


Tainted Legacy

by ms_katonic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alistair Finds Out Fiona Is His Mother, Alistair Has Issues, F/M, Family Feels, Family Issues, Family Reunions, Family Secrets, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9778130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_katonic/pseuds/ms_katonic
Summary: Alistair Finds Out Grand Enchanter Fiona Is His Mother.  All the feels ensue.  (Excerpt from a longer fic, but you don't need to read that to appreciate this, I've summarised the backstory in the notes.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Age of the Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149431) by [ms_katonic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_katonic/pseuds/ms_katonic). 



> It is International Fanworks Day! And to celebrate, here is a little gift for Dragon Age fandom. It is an edited chapter from a longer work, The Age of the Dragon, which is a lengthy Skyrim/Dragon Age crossover, but lots of people in DA fandom are pining for Alistair to find out Fiona is his mum, and so I have extracted and rewritten that scene considerably, and presented it as a one-shot so you can enjoy the sappiness without having to read the entire fic (although if you want to read the rest, you won’t find me objecting).
> 
> For those of you who never read the fic, here is 37 chapters of backstory. It draws on Dragon Age: Origins, the Silent Grove comics, and the Dragon Age novella, The Calling, plus early parts of Dragon Age Inquisition.
> 
> The Hero of Ferelden was a mage elf called Lyra who Alistair had a crush on but who ultimately chose Zevran over him. It wasn’t the only factor causing him to walk out of the Landsmeet when Lyra decided to induct Loghain into the Wardens but it didn’t help. Anora took over as Queen of Ferelden, Lyra went on to kill the Archdemon and survive, and Alistair ended up in Kirkwall, spending his days as a mercenary and his nights trying to alleviate severe depression with alcohol and casual, usually paid for, sex. Eventually, Arl Teagan of Redcliffe was able to find him and bring him back to Redcliffe, where Alistair was able to get sober, but could not be said to be happy.
> 
> Fastforward a few years, and when the Venatori take over at Redcliffe and send Teagan packing, Alistair’s the one to hold the line while Teagan escapes. Rather than kill him, the name Alistair rings a bell and Alexius slings him into the cells, recalling that Venatori experiments revealed tales of the Theirin line having dragon blood to have some basis in fact, and that Maric Theirin’s blood had had unusual magical properties which the Venatori had been able to exploit (until Alistair had found out and been able to stop it, but that’s another story) (specifically the Silent Grove series of Dragon Age comics, the canon version has Alistair as King, but there’s no reason Exile Alistair wouldn’t have gone on the same journey, assuming Teagan helped fund it). So Alistair remains in prison until such time as Alexius can link up with the rest of the Venatori and start conducting proper experiments.
> 
> Meanwhile the Inquisition forms, with a human warrior who is not a Trevelyan as its Herald. She is in fact a Dragonborn from Skyrim who ended up in the Temple of Sacred Ashes due to magical misadventure. And back home she’s got a husband and a five year old daughter who are both desperate to find her. She’s Queen Elisif of Skyrim, he’s Madanach the former King in Rags and now King of the newly-inaugurated Imperial Province of the Reach (apparently getting your kingdom back is easy when you help the High Queen to get her title, conquer her rival’s city and avenge her previous husband), the little one is called Maia, and when Madanach the Reach-King arrives in Ferelden with a small team, his five year old, and no idea where to start, he ends up joining the mage rebellion, correctly guessing if he makes a big enough stir, she’ll find him. It was all going so well until Alexius screwed with the timeline, and Madanach went from respected Enchanter-General of the Free Mages to ending up as a prisoner in Alexius’s cells… where he met and befriended Alistair, and after Elisif the Herald rescues them and allies with the rebel mages, Alistair decides to join the Inquisition.
> 
> Where he ends up in regular proximity to Grand Enchanter Fiona, who is actually his mother but asked Maric to make sure Alistair never found out his real mother was an elf, not wanting her son to live with the racial prejudice she’d had to deal with (the full story on this is in the Dragon Age novel The Calling). And when romantic issues involving Elisif and Madanach both fancying Alistair and Alistair being completely inequipped to deal with this result in Alistair ending up in the mage camp, throwing himself on Fiona’s mercy (at Madanach’s suggestion - Elisif had discovered who his mother was in the dark future she’d seen at Redcliffe), Fiona can’t turn him away, despite the fact he’s tugging at her heartstrings just by being there.
> 
> Things come to a head just after the sealing of the Breach, but before Corypheus invades, which is where this story picks up.

All was ready. The ritual was underway. All of Haven held its breath, watching the sundered sky as the Herald led her mage allies in a ritual to seal the Breach. And then let it out again in a mighty cheer as the Breach exploded then fell in on itself and was gone.

“SHE DID IT!” Blackwall roared, raising his tankard. “THE HERALD DID IT!”

“MAMA DID IT!” Maia squealed. “MAMA DID IT, LOOK CICERO, MAMA DID IT!” This was repeated to every other person, child or adult, nearby until she got an answer off each of them… or at least until the other children present started cuddling her and distracted her.

The party began and it didn't get quieter as the victorious expedition returned and celebrations began in earnest. And central to them all was the hero of the day, Elisif the Herald of Andraste, who was sitting outside the chantry, being toasted by everyone while her proud husband sat with her and her equally proud little girl bounced around her and cuddled her and cheerfully told everyone her mama could do anything.

Most of Haven believed her.

But there was one man not feeling quite so celebratory. One man who couldn't drink, couldn't bear to watch Elisif cuddling Madanach all evening, and had taken himself away from it all to the quieter mage camp, although even that was starting to get a little raucous. He'd seen Leliana lining up some shots for some sort of drinking contest involving a pensive Josephine, who Leliana was claiming once outdrank a Nordic warrior queen, Iron Bull who was claiming these piddly little drinks were nothing, and Liriel who seemed to think High Elf metabolism meant these would kick in for her round about the time the rest of them passed out. She was wrong, but it would take a few rounds to find that out. Cicero made up the last member of the group, but having just secretly downed a poison resistance draught, he had an unfair advantage.

Alistair had decided the whole thing would be better off as a story told later, probably by Cicero the Murder Clown who had a way with words, especially when detailing another's misfortunes, and he'd made his way back to his tent.

Where Fiona was sitting up, quietly watching Bethany and Blackwall putting Suzette, Lucy and Maia to bed. Gerard, reunited with his family, was spending the night in Haven with them, and Bethany, feeling the gap acutely, had offered to have Maia over for a sleepover, an offer accepted by her grateful parents, who were looking forward to a child-free night together for once.

Fiona was watching and listening with a very strange look on her face and were those tears in her eyes? Alistair glanced at the tumbler of Orlesian brandy in her hands and wondered if Fiona should give up the drink as well. 

“Hello, do you need company?” he asked hesitantly and Fiona looked up, surprised to see him.

“Alistair?” she whispered, rubbing one of her eyes with her free hand. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off celebrating?”

“They're all celebrating with shots of liqueurs and I don't drink,” Alistair told her, coming to sit next to her. She'd spread a rug on the snow and arranged a few cushions, and procured one for him, fussing around him in a way he rarely saw her do for anyone else. “I thought I'd head back here, make an early night of it – Fiona, you don't have to do this. You're not actually my mother.”

Fiona flinched and did not look at him, but she did stop fussing with cushions and sat down.

“Forgive me, I just spent the last fifteen minutes watching Bethany and Blackwall put three children to bed,” Fiona said quietly. “Just be glad they are all girls or I'd be sobbing into a whole bottle of this stuff.”

Her voice sounded heavy and unhappy and Alistair couldn't help but put an arm round her. The poor thing just seemed so lonely. All that responsibility, so many people looking up to her, lots of colleagues but how many could she really call friend? No lover that Alistair knew of, and one child who she'd lost years ago. Poor woman. Alistair rather thought he knew how she felt.

“Look, are you sure you don't want me to track your boy down?” Alistair said quietly. “You don't have to make contact if you don't want, but would it help to know how he's doing? He might be married. With kids. You might be a grandmum!”

“All the more reason not to,” Fiona said fiercely. “Alistair, thank you, but let it go. Elf-blood is a stain and a shame for humans, far more than you think.”

“Not for me, it isn't!” Alistair protested. “I don't care if someone has elven ancestors or not. I only care if they're a decent person or an arsehole. And I know I'm not the only one. Look, if he turns out to really hate elf-blooded people, I'll beat him up myself.”

“Alistair...” Fiona whispered, looking pained, and Alistair wondered if perhaps that had been a bit insensitive, offering to hit her son if he turned out to be a colossal cock-end. He was still her son after all. But she didn't seem angry.

“You need to stop reminding me there are good men in the world still,” Fiona said softly, staring into the nearby fire. “I try every day to stay firm and resolute, keep the world at bay from my inner self. You make that very difficult.”

Alistair went very still and slowly began removing his arm, because this was starting to get weird, mainly because it was true what she said. Fiona and he had been strangers not so very long ago, she was in her fifties, he was fairly certain he didn't fancy her even if she looked great for her age. But there was something here between them, some… connection. He didn't understand it but he could sense it, and he had a feeling so did she… and she knew more than she was letting on.

_We are not lovers but we are becoming more than friends and I don't understand it at all._

“You can't live your life like that, Fiona,” Alistair said gently. “You need to let someone in. We all need loved ones. I mean, I know I'm hardly the shining example, having spectacularly fucked up every relationship I ever had, but my destiny doesn't need to be yours. You could still be happy.”

Fiona closed her eyes, hands covering her face even as her expression crumpled and Alistair stared in horror as he realised he'd managed to make the Grand Enchanter cry.

“Oh no,” he breathed. “Fiona no, don't cry… oh Maker, I'm so sorry...”

He put his arms around her and she nestled into his arms, not seeming to mind he was still in his armour. She was still hiding her face as she clung on to him, some untold grief racking her body from the inside out.

“You're so like him,” Fiona gasped through her tears. “One of the few good men in the world. Your father was the same. Maric didn't care I was an elf, or a mage, he just saw someone who needed help and saved me. I never met anyone else like him. But sometimes I close my eyes and listen to you and it's like he's back here.”

Her voice cracked again and she closed her eyes, still sobbing softly, but Alistair couldn't spare any thoughts for her feelings right now, because his mind had just ground to a halt. Because it turned out Fiona had somehow managed to meet his father at one point… and if he wasn’t mistaken, Fiona appeared to have had feelings for him. Strong feelings that might just have been reciprocated for Fiona to still be hanging on to them.

“Fiona,” Alistair said slowly, skin at the back of his neck prickling as he began to start piecing things together. “When did you know my father? You were in the Wardens or a Circle, and in Orlais and Nevarra at that, when did you ever visit Ferelden?”

A little gasp had escaped her throat, tears stopping abruptly and the blood draining from her face as she stared guiltily up at him, and Alistair felt suspicion crystallise into certainty.

“When?” he breathed. “How long ago? You said you had a son my age, you said he’d gone to his human non-mage father in Ferelden. Was that child fathered by King Maric??”

The horrified guilty look on her face said it all, and unless King Maric of Ferelden had had a complete nervous breakdown thirty one years ago and fathered two bastard sons by different women, Alistair realised that everything he thought he’d known about who he was, where he’d come from, had been a complete lie.

“Fiona?” Alistair pressed, needing to hear this from her, needing to know the truth. “Am I that son? Are you my...”

“You were never supposed to know,” Fiona whispered, hands to her mouth, still staring at him in horror. “You were supposed to live your life free of the shame. Alistair, I’m so sorry.”

“ _Sorry???_ ” Alistair cried, emotion overwhelming him as it started to sink in just how many things he’d thought to be true just weren’t. “The mother I was told all my life was dead, had just been a servant my father had had a fling with, was not only alive all this time, she’s the famous Grand Enchanter Fiona? I could have had a mother all along?”

“Alistair, I’m sorry,” Fiona whispered. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this, I...”

 _I was never supposed to know._ And if it hadn’t been for too much to drink, Fiona feeling especially emotional due to the proximity of cute little children, Alistair himself being here and reminding her of his father, likely he still wouldn’t know.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Alistair whispered, feeling his throat tightening, cheeks raw, tears in his eyes as he felt the emotion rising, and he didn’t know whether to hit something or cry. “You were just going to let me go on believing I didn’t have anyone, that no one really loved me or cared about me or wanted me… is that it. Is that why. I still don’t, is that what you mean. Am I that much of an embarrassment.”

Of course he was. Recovering alcoholic who’d achieved nothing and wasted his life – she’d probably heard stories from Varric or Bethany about his time in Kirkwall and decided it would be better all round to have nothing to do with him. And she was probably right. Filled with disgust at himself and the entire situation, Alistair started to get up to leave, wanting no more of this… until Fiona reached out and grabbed his arm before he could move.

“No!” Fiona cried out, tears still rolling down her face. “No, of course not, of course you’re not, you could never be. I wanted you free. Of this. Of elf-blood. Of this tainted legacy of elf-blood and magic both. You were better off never knowing!”

“Better – _better off??_ ” Alistair shouted, as he spun round to face her, heedless of the tent vibrating as newly-woken dragon blood started making its presence felt. “I have gone through my _entire life_ thinking I was worthless and unlovable, thinking no one cared about me other than as a pawn to be used. I managed to screw up every friendship, every relationship, I never found anyone who loved me back, the only thing that made life look appealing was the drink and now I can’t even have that, and the ones who are showing an interest are fucking _married to each other_ and if I get involved, I’ll probably just ruin that too and a little girl’s life in the bargain. I have spent _thirty years_ thinking my mother was _dead_ and wishing I’d known who she was or what she looked like, and imagining she was watching over me from the Fade or the Maker’s side, and there were days when that was literally all that kept me going, and now I don’t even have that. Because my mother is not only not dead, she’s a fucking hero with her own army of free mages, and she wants nothing to do with her embarrassment of a son!”

Half the camp shook on that last line, and as Alistair’s temper finally subsided, he realised two things. First, that while he could still hear music and singing in the distance from Haven itself, the mage camp had gone very very quiet. And secondly, that Fiona, Grand Enchanter and leader of the Free Mages, former Warden and the only one ever to escape the Calling, was on her knees in front of him, head in her hands and sobbing her heart out.

 _Oh no. I broke Grand Enchanter Fiona. Elisif and Madanach are going to_ kill me.

“Oh. Oh no. Please don’t cry,” Alistair whispered, anger having drained away to be replaced with horrible, horrible guilt. “I didn’t mean… can’t you just shout at me or disown me or something? Tell me I’m the worst son ever, get out of your camp?”

Fiona’s sobs intensified and she shook her head, barely able to speak, and when she did, it was just two words… but they struck Alistair to the core.

“I can’t,” Fiona gasped. “I… can’t.”

Alistair didn’t know whether this was a good thing or not. On the one hand, she clearly wasn’t pushing him away because he revolted her. But on the other… what if she did despise him but couldn't bring herself to push him away either. Wouldn’t that be worse?

Alistair had a feeling that might be worse. 

And then was all rendered academic as Fiona’s steward, Lysas, called out to her, approaching from the other side of the nearby campfire, footsteps crunching on snow.

“Grand Enchanter, are you all right? We heard shouting. And… magic?”

It had been unintentional Thu’umic resonances that had a tendency to leak out when a Dragonborn got angry, or so Elisif had told him, but Alistair had no intention of explaining that. Not to Lysas anyway. To Fiona if she asked… maybe.

Fiona had gone quiet, hastily wiped the tears away and sat up, doing her best to project authority.

“I’m fine, Lysas,” Fiona called back. “Alistair and I just had some things to discuss, that’s all. And we’re still discussing them. If we could have some privacy?”

“All right, Grand Enchanter, but if he’s going to shout, half the camp’s going to hear him. And you know he’s a Templar, right? He’s got their powers.”

Exasperated sigh from Fiona, the eye-roll visible even in the semi-darkness they were sitting in.

“I’m aware, Lysas,” Fiona said firmly. “You’re dismissed.”

“As you wish,” Lysas sighed, mage robes swishing on the snow as he retreated… but Alistair had a feeling the elf had heard everything and that neither of them had heard the last of this.

Fiona’s bravado sagged out of her as soon as he’d gone, and she stared at the ground, looking utterly defeated.

“It will be all over the camp by morning, and all Haven will know by tomorrow night, if either of us wished it kept hidden, it is too late now,” Fiona said quietly. “I am sorry, da’len. I tried to protect you, but the world will know now that your blood isn’t pure.”

She looked so sad and weary and defeated, and Alistair realised she really had been so ashamed of her elven blood that she’d wanted to protect her apparently human son from ever having to deal with it. Apparently being part-elven was really considered that shameful. Alistair hadn’t ever really realised. Someone being part-elf would never have bothered him, he’d never really considered other people might look down on it.

After this, he might be finding out firsthand. 

It was a source of some surprise to him that he found himself not caring. He’d spent so many years being a disappointment and a failure for reasons entirely within his control, having people despise him for something he couldn’t help would be a refreshing change. In fact, weren’t you practically obliged to hit people who said nasty things about your mother?

He was actually rather looking forward to it. Bring it the fuck on.

“The only taint in my blood is what the Joining put there,” Alistair said, straightening up as warrior instincts started kicking in, anticipating the joy of a fight for a worthy cause, of finally being able to stand up for himself and be proud of who he was. “There’s nothing wrong with having elven blood, and anyone says otherwise in my hearing, they’ll be changing their mind or feeling my fist. I don’t care my mother’s an elf. I don’t care you’re a mage either, in fact I’m really proud of you. You led the mages to freedom, you did all this! You’re a hero to all these people! And I get to say I’m related to you? I’m… I mean, that is… I’m honoured...”

Alistair could see the tent going blurry and feel moisture on his cheeks, and he realised he’d started crying.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” Alistair gasped, pulling his gauntlet off and rubbing at his eyes. “Why would I be?? You’re amazing. And when I needed somewhere to go and someone to look after me, you did it, and you didn’t have to. You could have just walked away. I would never have known.”

“I don’t think I could have.” Fiona had moved nearer, Orlesian silk handkerchief in her hand as she started dabbing at his face. “Not once I knew you needed help. Alistair, I… I couldn’t raise you myself, and I wanted you to have a better life than I’d had. I wanted you to enjoy the privilege of being fully human. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t love you or miss you or think about you every day. Maker, I must have cried the entire journey back from Denerim...”

She was crying again now, tears rolling down her cheeks but she didn’t seem to notice, being too busy drying his, which was kind of her but she really didn’t need to. 

Alistair took her hand in his, taking it away from his face and just holding hands with her, not sure what to say or where they went from here, but he felt like his heart had been ripped open, emotions bleeding out all over the place, and more than anything he wanted love and comfort from someone who loved him… and he had a mother now. He had a mother. 

He could have a mother who loved him. Something he’d wanted all his life and thought he would never have, but suddenly it was possible.

“You’re not in the Circle any more,” Alistair said quietly. “Or the Wardens. No one’s going to stop you any more, or take me away. You… if you want to… you could… you could be my...”

He couldn't say it out loud. His throat was already closing up and he’d start crying if he said the words. But Fiona knew, and Fiona placed her other hand on his.

“If I acknowledge you publicly, it will not be easy, _mon petit_ ,” Fiona said softly. “The world will judge you. Orlais still has laws barring the elf-blooded from public life, and the rest of Thedas is not much more enlightened. For now, the Inquisition protects us both but it will not last forever. Are you sure about this? Is this truly what you want?”

Alistair had some well thought out reply in mind, all good to go. Something about it being out now anyway, everyone would know, and he’d rather face it with his head held high and his mother alongside him, and screw the world, they’d have each other.

But Alistair had grown up lonely and unhappy, and his adult life had been no better, and the Arls of Redcliffe had tried but neither able to fill the void that loving parents would have, and Alistair’s emotions got the better of him.

“I want my mum,” he managed to choke out, eyes closing and the tears welling up, and thirty years of pain and loneliness came pouring out of him as Alistair started crying, tears pouring out of him, emotion forcing itself out, refusing to be pent up any longer. He hated himself for doing it, was mortified at bursting into tears in front of her, but he couldn't stop himself. He needed his mother, had always needed his mother, or someone, anyone, to take him in their arms and tell him they loved him, always would.

And Fiona move closer, put her arms around him and pulled him close, hand on his back, tears on her own cheeks as she whispered it was going to be all right, she was here, she’d got him.

“I’ve got you, _cherie,_ I’ve got you,” Fiona whispered in his ear. “It’s all right, my son. It’s going to be all right. I’m so sorry for leaving you. I missed you every day. You’re my son, you’re my brave, strong, handsome son and I love you so much.”

“Mum,” Alistair gasped, still crying from the sheer release of emotion, a torrent that couldn’t stop… but with it he could feel an awful lot of fear, loathing and emotional baggage being swept away with it. He had a mother. She was alive. She loved him. She’d given him up but clearly it hadn’t been easy for her, and what choice had a mage had, really? Wardens didn’t really approve of you keeping your children with you, and the Chantry would have sent any child born of one of its Circle mages straight to an orphanage. 

Alistair was still furious he’d been lied to his whole life, but it was no longer Fiona his anger was directed at. He had her back, she’d taken him back, he had his _mother._

Even if she was Orlesian, and if he was honest, being half-Orlesian was far more unsettling than being half-elf. He’d get used to it, of course. But all the same, it was a bit weird.

“Love you, Mum,” Alistair whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I’m never letting you go again.”

“Nor I,” Fiona promised, tightening her grip. “I lost you before and the only thing that helped was believing you’d have a better life without me, with everyone thinking you human. Except I no longer believe that to be true. My son needs me. _You_ need me. I will not abandon you again.”

Alistair was going to cry again if she kept this up. But he held her close, cuddling her fiercely, promising to himself that he was not going to screw this up. He had his mother. He had someone who cared if he lived or died, if he did well or not. So… it would probably be better if he didn’t die, right? Because Fiona would miss him. And even if his love life was complicated and probably screwed up beyond repair, he had someone who loved him anyway. 

He had a reason to get out of bed in the morning and do something with his life. He’d not had one of those since the Blight.

_I could be happy. I don’t know how or what it’ll take to make it happen… but I could be happy. Without needing to drink to do it._

It was a new thought, an intriguing thought and one that merited further investigation. But maybe not tonight. Right now, he wanted to hear more about where he’d come from, and Fiona seemed to want to talk, releasing her grip and sitting back, although she did not let go of his hand.

“So,” Fiona said. “I… imagine you have questions.”

Yes. Of course. How did she meet his father, had they loved each other, was this while she was in the Wardens, before, after, did she spend any time with him after he was born or did they take him away and send him to Ferelden immediately?

So many questions. But the one that first came to mind was at once trivial and yet strangely pressing.

“What was my original name,” Alistair said, suddenly desperately curious to know what an Orlesian elf might have wanted to call her son. “Alistair’s a Fereldan name, I suppose Father picked it out? Or maybe he didn’t.” Hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but Maric Theirin had delegated everything else about parenting, why not that?

“He didn’t,” Fiona admitted, but she seemed rather amused. “But you never have had any other. Truth be told, I had no idea what to call a baby that would be human, and that I already had decided would be going to his human, Fereldan father. All the human names I knew were Orlesian, I couldn't give a Fereldan boy one of those. Truly I didn’t know what to do. Fortunately I had help. I had the company of my best friends in the Wardens, a comrade in arms who’d been the only other one to survive the ill-fated trip into the Deep Roads where I’d met your father. He was part Fereldan, part Rivaini, all human as far as I know, and he’d lived in Highever for a little while. I asked him what to call you. And he picked out Alistair. It suited you. Even if we did argue once I found out where he’d got the name from.”

“Where did he get the name from?” Alistair asked, desperately curious, particularly as Fiona was starting to look rather awkward.

“After one of the Teyrn of Highever’s dogs,” Fiona admitted. “Apparently the dog in question was constantly getting out, and he used to play with it as a boy, and it left an impression… son, I am sorry. I didn’t know until after we’d been using it for three weeks and the name had stuck by then.”

“I was named after a mabari?” Alistair gasped, barely registering her awkwardness, because to a Fereldan, this was actually really impressive and a thing worthy of bragging about. “Really?”

Fiona nodded, still wincing, still regretting having told him this bit, because in Orlais, dogs were generally seen as messy, filthy animals associated with peasants (apart from the finely bred pets and hunting dogs of the nobility, of course). Which meant she was completely unprepared for the way Alistair’s face had just lit up.

“Was it… was it a _good_ dog?” Alistair whispered hopefully, leaving Fiona completely non-plussed and confused. 

“I confess I don’t really know a lot about the animal in question...” Fiona said, not entirely sure what exactly made a good dog, and fortunately for her, Alistair just laughed.

“Ah, what does it matter, they’re _all_ good dogs, aren’t they,” Alistair said, grinning. “Named after a mabari, brilliant!”

“You don’t mind?” Fiona said, surprised. “Being named after a dog?”

“No, why would I?” Alistair replied, confused this would even be considered a problem. “Dogs are great!”

Fiona sighed and gave up on the idea of ever completely understanding her son. 

“Sometimes, my son, you are so very Fereldan,” Fiona said, amused as she shook her head. Alistair just laughed.

“Only one side, it turns out,” Alistair said, squeezing her hand. “Don’t worry. I forgive you for inflicting Orlesian ancestry on me. I’ll find a way to live with the shame somehow.”

“What??” Fiona gasped, and it was a moment before she realised he was joking… at least a little bit. “Maker, Alistair, of all the things that I thought might bother you… you’d better not say that near Leliana!”

Alistair visibly shuddered at that. 

“As if I would!” he promised. “Seriously Mum, I’m OK with it… but in Ferelden, having an elven or mage relative might not be exactly approved of, but you tell them one of your parents is Orlesian?? Fights have broken out over that sort of thing.”

“Well, you’d better not start any over me,” Fiona warned him. “I am a grown woman capable of defending her own honour.”

Alistair pouted but did not argue, which was something. But that couldn’t be his only question, and she wasn’t wrong.

“So… you did spend time with me after I was born? They didn’t make you give me up right away? That doesn’t sound like the Circle.”

“I was still a Warden at the time, just about,” Fiona said softly. “The taint had vanished during the pregnancy. No one knows how. But it seems I'm immune to the Blight. They tried putting me through the Joining again after you were born, but it didn’t work. Nothing worked. I'd been sent to Weisshaupt Fortress in the Anderfels for investigation and to make a report to the First Warden. We'd been sent on an expedition to the Deep Roads in Ferelden, and your father had decided to blow off the responsibilities of kingship to come with us. I thought he was some irresponsible fool off on a jaunt with no idea what he was letting himself in for. I have never been so glad to be proven wrong. He saved my life from a demon. It had… possessed me. And then it sent us into the Fade, lost in dreams. Your father was the one to break free first and come save us all. I was trapped in a nightmare. And it was him who gathered the others, came to get me and stubbornly refused to give up until I was free and the demon was dead. I saw him in a different light after that. You were the result. And I loved you from the moment I first saw you.”

Which was all completely news to Alistair, because he'd always thought he'd been born in Redcliffe and had assumed he’d been born in Ferelden even if the story of his birth turned out to be completely made up. But apparently being a Warden might just have been predestined. He'd been born in Weisshaupt itself??

“Yes you were,” Fiona admitted. “And the birth was hard, I couldn't make the journey to Ferelden right away. And no one else in Weisshaupt was really up for dealing with a small baby, so we agreed I would be able to take you to your father once I had recovered and in the meantime, I took care of you. For the first few months of your life, you were loved, my son.”

“Really?” Alistair whispered, feeling his heart melting, because he'd not been unwanted. His mother really had loved him, tended to him, only given him up because she'd had no choice. He didn’t know if this made it worse or better. But it was more than he ever thought he’d had. 

“Really,” Fiona told him, squeezing his hand. “You were such a happy, smiling baby. I didn't have a lot in the way of baby toys for you, but I used to cast these little illusions to keep you entertained, just little lights and pictures, and you loved them.”

Morrigan would no doubt have laughed at this point and said he'd not changed much, but it wasn't Alistair's fault glowing magical things were pretty, was it?

“Thank you,” Alistair whispered, unable to keep the yearning out of his voice, because he couldn't stop the longing for what he'd never had – a childhood with a loving parent who'd wanted him. And it turned out he'd had it for the first few months of his life, and then lost it. “And… and then I suppose they made you give me away.”

Fiona nodded sadly. “I'm fortunate they let me choose how. We made our way to Denerim, and while travelling with an infant when the two of you know nothing about children is challenging, I think you enjoyed the journey. You were always such a curious and bright-eyed little thing. You know you've not changed as much as you might think. Every time I look at you, I remember that little baby and still see traces of him. When I left him in Denerim with Maric, I never thought… I never thought I would see you again.”

A lump in her throat and Fiona was probably going to cry again, and Alistair didn't blame her because he could feel tears in his own eyes too.

“Couldn't… could Father have done anything?” he asked, wondering why Maric had taken him off Fiona and then never got in contact again. “He was king, he could have found you somewhere. He could have made you Court Enchanter! We could have lived in Denerim!”

“Oh my son,” Fiona whispered. “Fereldan politics are not as venomous as Orlais', it is true, but it is still dangerous, and how welcome would an Orlesian elven mage have been, really? Do you think Loghain would have tolerated my presence? No, my son. And I didn't want you exposed to that either. I asked Maric to keep you from court, and so it proved. I know your life was hard. I don't know if it would have been easier if Maric had raised you alongside Cailan. We will never know. But please believe me when I say I felt I had no other choice, and that it broke my heart to leave you.”

“And then you must have had to leave the Wardens and go back to the Circle,” Alistair whispered, seeing it all too clearly. It wasn't fair. It really wasn't. And Fiona was in her fifties now, she must have only been in her early twenties then, she'd been so young to have to make decisions like that. Admittedly, Alistair had been younger when he'd been flung into a Blight with his friends and mentor dead, but he'd let Lyra make the really hard decisions. And then thrown a fit when she'd made one he didn't like and walked out. But Alistair had had ten years to regret that one. The experience made it far harder to judge someone else who'd also had some hard choices to make.

Fiona nodded.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “But I never could quite let go. Nor could Duncan. He stayed with me throughout the pregnancy, put up with my constant whining, was the only one who didn't seem to resent me for losing the taint, and he loved you. I had no idea the man would be good with babies, but he had a way with you. He doted on you, and after I had to return to Weisshaupt, he got himself a posting with the new Ferelden Grey Wardens and stayed to keep an eye on you. Son, he loved you as much as I did.”

What. Just… what? Duncan?? Had known him as a baby, had known he was the son of the Grand Enchanter? 

Duncan who was part-Rivaini, born in Highever… Duncan who had evidently helped raise him – and given him his name. Duncan had loved him from the start. Duncan hadn’t just been like a father figure to him, Duncan had in a very real sense been his third parent, and Alistair felt his heart breaking all over again at the thought of what he’d lost and not realised.

Duncan had clearly never known how to talk to him about it, or possibly Fiona had told him not to, but it explained so much. Yearly visits around his birthday, ostensibly to see if Redcliffe had any recruits from the Wardens… but he'd always made a point to spend some time with Alistair, tell him about the Wardens, give a little weapons training, quietly encouraging him and helping him feel that at least someone liked him. Arlessa Isolde had told him not to be a fool, Duncan just wanted a future warrior for the Wardens, but Alistair had asked Duncan on his next visit. And Duncan had knelt down and told him he could conscript any man in the castle if he needed one, but he spent time with Alistair because he wanted to.

He'd not seen much of Duncan while in the Chantry's care, but once he'd been enlisted as a Templar recruit, Duncan started showing up more often, and when Alistair had turned eighteen and decided to participate in the tournament thrown in Duncan's honour, because he'd just had to watch a young mage turned into an abomination and killed at her Harrowing and would rather deal with darkspawn than go through that again, Duncan had promptly recruited him. After Alistair survived the Joining, Duncan had taken him under his wing and Alistair had been his constant companion ever after. Until Ostagar.

Alistair had loved and looked up to that man like no one else, even if he'd felt Duncan had perhaps coddled him a bit… but things were rapidly becoming clear. Because Duncan had pushed him away as a lover, yes, and Alistair had always assumed it was because Duncan disapproved of the idea, found it revolting, found it shameful and disgusting and was ashamed of and disgusted with Alistair for even thinking about it. But if Duncan was in fact the third parent Alistair never knew he had... oh Maker, Alistair had completely misinterpreted things, Duncan had clearly been too embarrassed to bring it up, but if they had, either of them, been brave enough to say something...

“You knew Duncan,” Alistair gasped. “Duncan… knew me? Knew who I was?”

“He knew,” Fiona said quietly. “We'd exchanged letters over the years. He wanted to tell you after conscripting you. I didn't agree, tried to talk him out of it… but he was insistent. Then the Blight took his attention… and then Ostagar happened. I feared the worst. It was only after the Archdemon's fall that I heard there'd been a Warden called Alistair helping out but no one seemed to know what had become of you. I knew I'd lost my oldest friend. And I feared my son was gone too. Yet here you are.”

Alistair always had had a sense Duncan had wanted to tell him something. A sense he meant more than any old recruit – why else had Alistair felt safe enough to try and kiss him that one time? He'd been afraid to say anything the morning after – too ashamed, too guilty, and Duncan likely hadn't known how to talk to him about it either. If they'd only got over themselves and talked about it. He could have learned his mother was alive years ago, and the grief he thought he'd processed hit him all over again.

“Why didn't _he_ raise me?” Alistair cried. “Or… you could both have left the Wardens, gone to my father, you could have been Court Enchanter, Duncan could have protected you from Loghain. Or you could have just run away, just the two of you and me. I'd have loved having Duncan as a dad...”

Whispered words of sorrow and apologies from Fiona, who'd taken him in her arms again, not even trying to explain it, just apologising, and he heard the grief in her voice and realised he couldn't hold it against her.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “It just isn't fair.”

“No,” Fiona said softly. “It was not. Our last night with you, Duncan… held you in his arms and whispered to me was I sure we couldn't keep you? He suggested running away together, said he'd marry me if I wanted, he'd help raise you. I told him it would never work. I told him a human-elf couple would attract the wrong sort of attention, and for an apostate mage, attention is the last thing they want. And that I couldn't ask him to give up the Wardens. Duncan's previous career had been as one of the best thieves in Val Royeaux, I knew what he'd do to earn a living if he left the Wardens. I couldn't do that to him. That, and we suspected a Blight might come to Ferelden within our lifetimes. Knowing that, how could we leave? So we made our choice. But know he vowed to watch over you, and that he grieved too when we left you behind. Alistair, my son, I am sorry. Maric and I wanted to spare you the burden of our legacies – a kingship he never wanted and the shame of elf-blood on my side. But… maybe you needed a family more than that.”

Alistair clutched her tight, and while he was angry, livid at having had the chance of a family ripped away from him by other people's decisions, the anger wasn't aimed at her.

“I'm not ashamed of being your son,” Alistair told her. “I don't care you're an elf. You're my mum and you're awesome. You're the bloody Grand Enchanter! Leader of the mage re- free mages. You're important and special and you changed the world. I'm so proud of you, you know. I just wish… wish I'd known… wish you could have...”

 _Wish you could have raised me, but the Chantry would never have let you keep me._ Circle mages couldn't keep their kids, Wardens generally had to give them up too, and elves weren't tolerated outside alienages. Because the Chantry held they were little better than heathens, further from the Maker than humans, needing to be kept subservient and controlled for their own good because they couldn't be trusted to rule themselves…

In that moment, Alistair knew who to direct his anger at and something he'd been thinking about for a while finally fell into place.

“Fuck the Chantry,” he said out loud. “I mean it, Mum. Fuck. The. Chantry.”

Fiona had let him go, staring up at him with her hand over her mouth, elven eyes faintly reflective in the half-light, and it was bright enough to see that she looked borderline appalled, despite not having attended a Chantry service in years.

“Alistair,” she whispered. “Alistair, this is dangerous territory...”

“I fought in a Blight, I'm not scared of the Chantry,” Alistair said, scowling. “And Elisif was declared a heretic and she's fine. They don't deserve my loyalty or my respect and I'm damn sure they don't have an ethical leg to stand on. I'm done with them, Mum. I'm deconverting. I'm… I don't know where that leaves me, whether Solas could tell me about the Dalish gods, or Elisif about the eight gods they've got in Tamriel. But I'm not Andrastian. Not any more.”

Silence from Fiona, and then Alistair realised she was laughing. Softly, under her breath, but laughing, pink blush staining her cheeks, but her eyes were dancing.

It wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting.

“What?” he said, frowning. “What's so funny??”

Fiona shook her head, wiping her eyes. “It's not. I shouldn't laugh. Only… I was going to tell you off but it's occurred to me I once told a conclave of First Enchanters the exact same thing about the Divine and… Maker, you are taking after me after all.”

“You… what?” Alistair said faintly. “You… told the Divine where to go??”

Fiona nodded, drying her eyes and grinning at him. 

“I'm afraid so, my son. Oh dear, but we are neither of us going to the Maker's side, are we?”

If the Maker was really Akatosh the Father of Dragons, Alistair wasn't so certain about that. But he did know one thing.

“Don't worry, Mum. When it's my time, I'll come and find you. We can wander the Fade with the rest of the damned together.”

Fiona did smile then, a brilliant beautiful smile of pride as she took his hand, holding it tight as she gazed up at him, happier than he'd ever seen her.

“We shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond,” Fiona said, quoting the Chant… up to a point. “For there is no darkness when I look in your eyes and nothing I have wrought will be lost if I have anything to do with it.”

“Fairly certain that's not how it goes,” Alistair said, smile on his face, arm round his mother, and he'd never felt so happy. He had a mother. And he loved her. Not just because she was his mum, but because she was brilliant. 

_I'm going to tell the world you're my mum, and I think I might call myself Alistair Fionasson from now on._

Absolutely nothing could ruin his night. Alas, as was frequently the case, Alistair was about to be proved wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> To find out the rest of the story, read The Age of the Dragon. ;)
> 
> Other notes: Bethany is of course Bethany Hawke, who ends up in the Inquisition in the full story and hooks up with Blackwall. Lucy, Gerard and Suzette are three Circle apprentices from Kirkwall who Bethany has basically adopted.
> 
> The bit about Alistair getting his name from a dog was not my idea, I saw it on Tumblr somewhere with someone claiming it was canon, but I can’t trace a source.


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